olympus v queen
by finaljoy
Summary: Felicity Smoak disappeared with Oliver Queen. Six months later, she returns home with a wedding ring and a dead woman's eyes. Everyone is asking what happened, but Oliver has polished 'no comment' to a shine, and Felicity would honestly prefer it if it all just went away. (hades and persephone au)


_AN This story means an embarrassing amount to me. I love Hades and Persephone, and I love Arrow, and somehow the two became completely and horribly mixed and I just-_

 _It's been a ride. Just trust me with this._

 _Thank you to the darling Red Bess Rackham and Shazrolane for betaing this, and for helping me make if less 'hm.' and more 'OH.' ;)_

* * *

"Miss Smoak, please, answer the question. Did you willingly go with him?"

"Queen."

"Yes, did you choose to go with Mr.—"

"No, I mean…it's Queen. I'm Felicity Queen, now."

"…Did you choose to go with him?"

Felicity stared past the lawyer before her, searching for the faces that meant something to her. Her mother, heartfelt and desperate. Laurel, serious and encouraging. Moira, upright and blown of glass. Oliver, sophisticated and aloof and trying to conceal his nervous tic.

She closed her eyes, and wished the world would stop looking at her.

* * *

"Oh, Felicity," Donna sighed, teary once again. Felicity glanced at her mother, and gave a smile made of wax. They used to be made of honey, golden and bright and enough to make the flowers grow. And then he had gone and all stolen all the life from her baby girl.

"It's good to have you back," she continued, biting back the tears, because she had sobbed in the airport and the parking lot and even for parts of the car ride home. She wasn't going to let Felicity's first day home, first day _safe_ be marked by nothing but tears. "And your hair, goodness, I haven't seen it this long in _ages._ Hasn't gone past your shoulders since you were sixteen!"

Felicity nodded absently, reaching behind her to catch a lock of hair. It reached her shoulder blades, now, and had turned dark from lack of sun.

"He didn't let me cut it," she mused. "And I didn't really want to steal a pair of scissors."

She said it with a slight smile, like it was a joke. Donna swallowed hard, and nodded. He hadn't even let her cut her _hair._

* * *

"I like that blouse," he said, tilting his head. Felicity glanced down at her shirt, flowy and spattered with blue and green. It made her think of butterflies riding gusts of wind.

"Oh, thanks. I felt like wearing something to celebrate the warmer weather, y'know?"

He probably didn't. He had been there a few times before, polite and charming and wearing nothing but a well-tailored suit. Everything about him was probably well-tailored.

"Then we're lucky the weather has been so kind."

"Thank you," she said after a pause, blinking at the compliment. She broke into a slow smile, almost waiting for him to take it back, to explain it was meant for someone else, meant something else. But her mystery man just smiled back, a crescent moon set before her shoes.

"Can I bring you anything else?"

"No, thank you. I'm fine."

Felicity paused, considering him. He was her regular now, right? She could ask him his name, that was something people did after seeing each other three times a week, every week?

"Okay, so I just want to know, totally being nosy here, so sorry, but I gotta ask—what's your name?"

His smile spread a little wider, turning from manicured to amused.

"Oliver Queen." He held out his hand in mock formality, and Felicity took it with another grin.

"Felicity Smoak."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Felicity," he told her, solemn sincerity in his eyes. Oliver held onto her hand a moment after she had let go. Felicity looked at him, but Oliver was as placid as ever, turning back to his plate like nothing had happened. Felicity blinked, and walked back to the kitchen.

She could still feel his palm pressed against hers.

* * *

"Felicity, it's okay. You're in a safe place. You can tell me what happened," Laurel coaxed. Felicity swallowed.

"…Nothing happened, really."

" _Felicity,_ " Laurel said, patience fraying before her eyes. "You left the country without telling anyone, and didn't come back for six months. Something happened. What was it? Why didn't you tell anyone, speak to anyone, do _anything_ in all that time?"

She shrugged, and glanced at her mother. What could she say? She was safe, yes, but something in Felicity was still screaming _'do not'_. Was she allowed to talk now, to tell the blackened truths and details made of anxiety and gristle?

Even if she was, even if that was _totally okay,_ Felicity wouldn't do it like this. _Lawyers_ and _courtrooms_ never figured into her version of this revelation. But her mother had insisted, and there _really_ wasn't much anyone could do when Donna Smoak grit her teeth and committed to something. Even now she was staring at Felicity, urging the words to come out of her mouth, the explanation, the justification, the condemnation. She wanted to hear every sick, perverse detail of what _that Oliver Queen_ had done to her daughter, so she could nail him to the wall with it.

Felicity let out a long, slow breath.

"I just—I didn't—He said it would only be for a couple of days." The words tasted like a black betrayal on her tongue. She grimaced, trying to find another way to explain, but Laurel didn't give her time to gather herself.

"And you didn't feel the need to call your mother or your job after that? You just…stayed gone?"

Felicity stared up at the ceiling. This had been so much easier in her head. It made sense there. Why couldn't they see it the way she did? Why did they get caught in the darkness in Oliver's eyes, the tightness of his grip as he took her hand? Why didn't they see the enchanting smile, the way her name was shaped with the care no other word received from his tongue?

"Felicity," Laurel whispered, leaning forward to touch her arm, "I just want to find out what happened. You did nothing wrong. _You're_ the victim here, it's okay."

It didn't _feel_ okay.

* * *

Felicity rested her elbows on the counter, gazing absently out the window. Starling City was spread out before her, big and busy and probably overwhelming, but she liked looking out from the calm of Oliver's penthouse.

Felicity still struggled to wrap head around the fact that she was there. She had been breathless the moment he had asked her to spend the weekend with him, and absolutely _giddy_ when the jet took off, tearing the ground away from her feet. But now the intense, seductive glamour of his city had faded back, leaving her with the cool beauty of the lights and inky black of night _._

Footsteps whispered across the hardwood floor, and then Oliver stepped into view. He picked up an apple from the opposite counter, considering it. It was dappled pink and yellow, promising to be delicious.

Looking at him now, Felicity would have thought that everything was fine. But his mother had swept out on a frosty breeze not long before, and Felicity had heard the way Oliver's shout had been bitten down into something that would not disturb. Something was wrong, but she was just the weekend girl. Wait, no. The fling thing? The little bit of fun, the break from the real world? This was not getting better. The romance? _Ugh,_ no. The thing that brightened his day, yes, that was what he had said earlier.

She was the positive, happy thing in his life, at least, for now. She wasn't supposed to get mixed up in the rest of his unhappy.

"Care for an apple?" Oliver asked, cleanly cutting through Felicity's thoughts.

"Sure," she said, turning to smile at him.

He pulled a knife from the block, and expertly sliced into the apple. Felicity knew she would only be in Starling for another day, and her crazy, impulsive, amazing weekend trip away with Oliver would come to a close. But she was content to sit there in his glossy kitchen and make small talk as he cut an apple for her. She was content to inject him with the last little bits of brightness she could, before she would have to leave.

His hands were careful but certain as he lined up the slices and carved out the seeds. She reached over and took one, biting into it. It tasted bright and lovely, the kiss of sunshine at midnight.

"Oh, here, this one still has the seeds in it," she said, holding out a slice that he had missed. Oliver considered the piece of apple, then took it from her. He raised the slice to his mouth, and carefully bit out the center. He held it out to her and smiled.

Felicity took the apple back and ate it. She couldn't quite shake the squirm in her stomach when he sank his teeth into the apple and looked her dead in the eye.

"Felicity…?"

"Hm?" she asked, once more relieved to let him tear her from the _very_ inappropriate direction her thoughts were going. His eyes were on his hands, braced against the edge of the counter.

"There's something I need to talk to you about."

Felicity felt her stomach sink before he had even finished speaking.

* * *

"I'm not sure what to make of it," Donna told Laurel. She couldn't help but whisper, even though they were on the back porch and firmly out of Felicity's hearing. "You know, when I picked her up, she had a _wedding ring_ on. When she caught me looking at it, she took it off."

"Does she wear it now?"

"No. She doesn't talk about it. I can't figure out how he made her—"

"Well, there's a lot we don't know," Laurel sighed. She ran a hand through her hair. Donna truly felt for her. Felicity had barely managed a hello and a goodbye the entire time they had spoken. When she _did_ meet the other woman's gaze, her eyes had been hollow. "Anything could have happened to her. Her mental state… If the only person she saw was him, every day for _months…_ "

"How did this happen to my baby?" Donna whispered, fingers on her mouth. Felicity was a _good girl._ She was smart and paying her way through college. She had good friends and was an upbeat, perky girl. Donna had thought she was too strong to be taken victim like this. But, she reminded herself, she had certainly been strong enough to make it out the other side.

"We'll sort it out," Laurel promised, and set a hand on Donna's arm.

* * *

"Did you take her, Mr. Queen?"

"Only in the sense that I invited her to spend time with me and showed her onto my jet."

"And you never thought to ask her how she would deal with the consequences of just leaving her life behind? Never questioned the situation you might put her in?"

"I did, but this is her life. She makes choices on her own."

The pretty lawyer before him did a good job of maintaining her professionally removed expression, but at this comment, she looked like she wanted to spit on him. He kept his face smooth, trying to not give anything away. This needed to be handled delicately, he reminded himself. Very, very delicately, indeed.

"I see," she said, the words grinding together. "And prior to you 'showing her onto your jet', how did you two interact?"

"Excuse me?"

"What was the setting in which you two interacted? How did you get to know her?"

"We talked at the café where she worked."

"Did you just drop by to say hello, did you buy a meal…?"

"She served me, yes."

"She _served_ you?"

"She was a _waitress,"_ he emphasized, hating the insinuation she was caking onto his skin. He had to hand it to her, though. She was smart, and she knew how to work angles. In another life, she would have made an excellent fixer. Shame she was focused more on the truth than the money, though.

Which was a definite problem, because the truth most certainly would _not_ set him free. It would just tangle things up and make everything so much worse. And he had promised not to let that happen.

"So, what caught your eye, Mr. Queen? How did you go from getting refills to flying her to Starling on your jet?"

"She interested me. I thought she was sweet."

* * *

" _Felicity!_ " Donna snapped the moment the front door was closed, "how could you—where did _that_ come from?"

Felicity didn't answer, just stalked past the potted plants that Donna had let shrivel and die while Felicity was gone. She stopped in the kitchen, careful to avoid the sightlines of the windows. She'd been doing it for less than six months, and yet the habit seemed drilled into her bones.

Her mother caught her arm and spun her around. Her neatly styled hair was frizzy, and the warm green dress she was wearing reminded Felicity of the dead plants strewn about the house.

" _Felicity._ You know he can't _do_ anything to you now, right? You don't have to play his game, you don't have to be _afraid!_ "

"I know, Mom, but—"

"Then why did you tell Laurel you wanted the case dropped?!"

" _Because!_ " she snapped, yanking away from Donna's grip. "Because I can't sit there in a court and be _stared_ at, be picked apart and turned into a series of _mistakes_ instead of a person! I can't be there and watch _him_ , watch—"

"Oh, honey," Donna breathed, indignation freezing on her face. Felicity clenched her hand around the edge of the counter. Her mother's words were like flower petals stroking her skin, but her skin wasn't the clean, healthy thing it had once been. She felt disgusting, dirty and slathered in filth from the _lies_ she had rolled around in.  
Her face was hot, and her knuckles were white against the counter, but she couldn't be angry at her mother. Not when she was trying _so hard_ to make everything right in the only way she knew how. Not when she was trying so hard to justify the way she had let her life fall apart while her daughter was missing.

"I know it's hard, I know. But we can't just let him go _on._ This could happen again, to another girl! I can't live with myself if I didn't at least _try—_ "

"Mom, I never _wanted_ this," Felicity said, a few weeks and a court date too late. She let go of the counter, and took ahold of the wedding ring she had attached to the chain around her neck. Felicity had kept it out of sight, after Donna nearly choked over seeing it. "I didn't ever want this to happen, to go to court, to get a lawyer or _anything._ "

She hated it, but she broke into tears. Her mother was trying, she really was, but she should have been focusing on understanding what had happened, rather than vilifying Oliver Queen. But she would never understand, no matter how long and hard Felicity tried. No truth would work, no fact would do. Nothing would change Donna's mind. Not when she looked at Felicity and saw black, filthy hand prints stretching across her clothes and skin.

But as frustrated and hurt and upset as Felicity was with her mother and her rash temper, she _loved_ her for pulling her into hug and squeezing for all she was worth, hand prints or no.

"I just wanted the truth to come out," Felicity whispered into her shoulder. "Why is it so _hard_ to show? Why don't people…why won't anyone believe?"

"We'll make them believe," Donna promised. Felicity closed her eyes.

* * *

Felicity gazed out the window of Oliver's penthouse. The city seemed so far away from the top of a sky scraper. The golden lights winked at her against the night, like this all had been a joke.

The first time she had really paid attention to Oliver, she had thought there was a bit of a darkness there in his eyes. It was slight, a shadow that was gone with a turn of the head, but she saw it sometimes, in his shoulders and on his lips after his smile dropped away. She knew where it came from, looking beyond the lights and finding the beautiful dark of the city.

Felicity glanced down at herself, pale and bare in the window. She hardly recognized herself. A little while ago, Oliver's lips had been on her skin and his hands in her hair like…she didn't know what. He had been an animal. He had made her an animal.

Felicity squeezed herself, feeling the ornate wedding ring curve around her finger. Then again, she had known what depravity she was lowering herself into when she agreed to marry him. It was the family business, after all. His family business. Her new family business.

What would her mother think of her. Felicity honestly couldn't guess.

She left the window, and carefully, carefully laid back down next to Oliver. She didn't want to wake him.

* * *

"Mrs. Smoak," a voice called to her. It was polished and complimentary. She was hardly surprised to find it belonged to Moira Queen. "Mrs. Smoak, Moira Queen. I was wondering if we could have a word."

Donna stared at the woman, not even bothering to hide her distaste. Moira Queen had a sharp, efficient air about her. She was like the professional version of her son; appealing to business men and glamouring house wives instead of twenty somethings and cougars. She also seemed to have power seeping from her fingertips. Donna set her jaw, and pulled out the most unimpressed and falsely civil tone she could find.

"Mrs. Queen. I have absolutely no desire to retract my lawsuit against your son. So please, my daughter is waiting for me."

"Mrs. Smoak," Moira said, charming tone having turned crisp, "perhaps we ought to do this in private."

Donna sincerely considered spiting her, considered saying every true, nasty thing about her cretin of a son right there in the law firm's lobby. They were already attracting looks, a few raised words would certainly get the rest. But she gave a smile made of flint, and walked into an empty conference room.

She faced Moira when she heard the door close. Donna could feel the other woman eyeing her, taking in her bright orange dress, the equally loud purse, skimming over her jewelry like she knew it had been bought from a bargain bin. Her smile was frigid and insincere.

"I suppose you could imagine my surprise when I heard you had attempted to have my son arrested last week."

Donna didn't move. The only reason the warrant hadn't gone through was because Felicity had appeared to be on the verge of vomiting at the thought of pointing a finger at her kidnapper.

"Now, you're trying to _sue_ him? Mrs. Smoak, I am at the least _intrigued_ at the thought _._ From an entirely factual point, you cannot hope to beat the _team_ of lawyers my family has at its fingertips. Why waste money on a lawsuit that you cannot win?"

"Your son _stole_ my daughter. Even if it bleeds me dry, I will see that he suffers for it. I don't care if that's jail time, or being hounded by every trash tabloid that has a camera. I will _not_ let this go."

"Even if it means destroying your daughter in the process?" Moira asked, arching an exquisitely shaped eyebrow.

"Is that a _threat_?"

"A question. Those 'trash tabloids' will attack your daughter as well, if you keep screaming about her being kidnapped."

Donna grit her teeth, and suddenly, this woman's smart designer suit and flawless understated jewels didn't mean a thing. Her influence didn't mean a thing.

" _Nothing_ will be as bad as what he did to her," she snarled, cold fury in every single one of her words.

Moira watched her for a moment, then sniffed.

"I had hoped we could end this civilly."

"With you _buying_ my silence? I think not, no. Felicity was missing for _six months_. Who _knows_ what he did to her in that time, she can barely talk to me about it! But one thing I _do_ know is that your son is a disgusting coward, stealing girls and locking them away so he can have his fun, then sending _his mother_ out to fight the battles he can't bring himself to face."

Moira's eyes suddenly turned cold, and Donna saw a trace of the holy terror that had birthed Oliver Queen.

"I see. Go on you fool's errand, then, Mrs. Smoak. But don't act like you know what my son is, because you have seen his name in the newspaper or on some tv screen. Don't you _dare_ pretend to know what it is he does. Now, I'll take my _dirty money_ with me, and let you make your daughter suffer even more."

Donna _hated_ that woman.

* * *

Starling was a mirror to the sky; dark, with a thousand little lights nestling together. Felicity laughed, peering out of the window of the jet as they circled the city.

"It's beautiful!" she beamed, turning away to look at Oliver.

"From up here, at least. It's a bit dingier when you get on the streets." He couldn't help the black smile on his face as he spoke. She was only complimenting the mouth of hell. But he would never let her see any of that. This was just a quick trip, a little drop of sun in his night. Felicity would not see any of the _bad_ that was consigned to trail at his heels.

"No, it's wonderful," she breathed, eyes drawn back to the city. "I dunno how you can ever leave this place, I would be practically glued to the window."

He smiled at her excitement, but he couldn't bring himself to look out the window along with her. His eyes were caught on the curve of her cheek, the way her back turned to get as close to the window as possible. Happiness seemed to cover every inch of her skin.

"It's a city of almost four million souls," he mused, wanting to hear a little more of her delight.

"And they're all your domain," she said, like she wasn't even aware of speaking. He smiled at her, even though she had her back to him.

"I suppose. And yours, for a few days."

* * *

Felicity walked back to Oliver's table to wipe it down. She froze a pace away.

He had stacked his dishes and trash into a neat pile as usual, and the typical generous tip sat partially under his cup so it wouldn't fly away. And there, in the dead center of the table, was a bouquet of beautiful, golden lilies.

Felicity barely dared to breathe as she crept closer. The flowers looked expensive and lovely and probably smelled _amazing_ , but a thrill of panic was going through her stomach. A passing compliment on her shirt or her smile was fine, that was just being polite and a decent human being, even if they were delivered with a smile that made her heart stop and a look that said he knew _exactly_ when it happened. But a bunch of really pretty, _really_ expensive flowers was not being polite or decent, it was clanking around a whole lot more that she was not at all prepared for. She worked in a café, she carried people their sandwiches and their pretentious organic juices and overpriced lattes so she didn't have to take out a bunch of student loans. Her apartment was tiny and worn and probably could use a good dose of TLC that she neither had the time or money for. So it made no sense, _whatsoever,_ for some charming billionaire hottie to be leaving her exquisite flowers and a hint toward something that made her literally stop breathing.

It made no sense. She should pick up his dishes in one hand, the flowers in the other, and act like they meant nothing. She would do it. She would act like everything was normal, she would put his dishes in the sink, the flowers in the trash, pretend it never happened.

Felicity picked them up. It was like sunshine itself had formed the petals. A small white card was nestled in the leaves.

 _To show how you brighten my day_.

She stuttered out a breath, and tried to fight the stupid, touched, delighted smile on her face as she held the flowers to her chest.

* * *

Oliver scanned the room of solemn faces. It was only a handful, and infinitely better than a court room, but still oppressive. There were too many bright eyes bearing down on him, defining him in ways he couldn't bear to fathom.

"Alright, now, everybody's signed the gag order, right?" asked the lawyer. His face had blurred with all the others at his family's command, just another body swirling around the city. His record was clean and straightforward, despite the tired, overworked look on his face. Oliver had made a point of using one of the impeccable lawyers at the Queen family's disposal, rather than the savages wrapped up in suits left for more dubious matters. Moira had strongly disagreed, but he had been determined. They had no need to drag the underworld into this. Not when they were in Felicity's domain, full of honesty and sunshine and bright green grass.

"Now, this is _not_ a courtroom. The gag orders have been checked by both parties' lawyers, and have been found suitable. We are just here to discover the truth."

Oliver looked at Felicity, hearing her words fed through the mouths of too many other people. She kept her gaze on her knees. Her mother, however, quietly hated him with her eyes. When he'd seen a picture of Donna Smoak, Oliver had thought she was a woman of life, with her big grin and bright dress. He could see her traced in all of Felicity's energy. But now, she seemed to exist on her sheer loathing of him.

"Alright," the lawyer repeated. "Let's go over this."

* * *

Felicity picked at the phone, debating whether she should call. It had been days, and she still hadn't spoken to her mother. Not that they talked all that often, but things had…happened. She wasn't sure how she would do it, but Felicity wanted her mother to know at least the bare facts. Nothing dangerous just…a little heads up, a casual note that, oh yeah, she would be in Starling for…a while.

She took a breath, and started punching in the numbers. It rang once…twice…three times…should she leave a voice—

The phone was roughly snatched from her hand as Oliver barked out her name. She jerked back, staring as he shoved the phone back into its cradle.

" _What_ were you doing?" he demanded. He was angry, shoulders slightly hunched, and his hands snarled into fists at his side. She stared at him, ruffled from having the phone yanked from her hand, but also feeling a little guilty. Felicity pressed down on the feeling, even as her heart skittered against her ribs.

"I—I was—I was just going to call my mom."

"You can't _do_ that," he ground out, pulling it all back in, hiding it under a mask. "We agreed on this."

She looked away from him, giving a long, slow sigh. She wasn't like him, she didn't try to hide what she was feeling. She was frustrated and worried and upset and she wanted him to see it all.

Things had been so much easier, before. Before she had been forced to stay inside, stay out of sight, stay safe. Before Oliver had looked at her with fractured eyes and said that marriage was the best option.

He was still pinning her down with his sharp blue gaze, stress demanding answers she could not rationally give.

"I know—I thought _maybe…_ "

" _No,_ Felicity," he said, voice quieter now. He softened a little, and let out a sigh. Oliver stepped closer, hesitated, then smoothed his hand over her hair. "You can't contact anyone. Not yet. Not until I say."

Felicity nodded, and pressed Oliver's palm against her cheek.

* * *

"This is a tough one, Daddy," Laurel sighed into the phone.

"Yeah?"

"A woman is accusing some billionaire of kidnapping her daughter."

" _What_? And you took it? You know that guy's probably got at least half a dozen top grade lawyers on speed dial, right?"

"Yeah, I know. But he hasn't called in the brigade, not as far as I can tell. Probably because it would make him look even guiltier. This woman, though…her daughter, she looks so… _broken._ She's skittish, barely goes outside."

"So she's back, then?" Laurel smiled at the relief her father didn't even bother to hide.

"Mm-hm. Apparently stepped off the plane two days ago."

"Plane? Where was she?"

"Starling City."

Quentin whistled into the phone, low and sad.

"Starling, that's a rough place. But this guy just let her _fly_ home?" Laurel grimaced. Her father had picked up on that fact as quickly as she had. Now the oddity tugged at her, begging her to pick at it and figure out _why._

"I dunno what goes through rich people's heads. Maybe he panicked, though he could buy her off."

" _That_ backfired. _"_

" _Yeah._ The mom refused flat out, no amount offered. She's really the one pushing this whole thing. The daughter kind of wants it to disappear."

"Did anything happen to her?"

"Yes, not sure what, though. We know he had her for the whole six months, but she won't say what all happened. All I know for sure is that he had her, wouldn't let her go outside, and that they were married."

" _Married_? And you're sure that's not just a ring slapped on the right finger?"

"Yeah, I checked." Laurel sounded miserable, even to herself. Miserable and frustrated. There was something more, something that Felicity was refusing to say. Oliver Queen was a powerful, determined businessman with a few million hanging out of his back pocket. It was laughable, how easy it was for him to make problems like this go away with a snap of his fingers. But that didn't quite justify the edginess of Felicity's resistance to the whole thing. That something she was holding back was ugly, and Laurel wasn't entirely certain she wanted to be involved with it. "Dated about a month into her kidnapping."

"Laurel, baby, I'm gonna give you some advice, and I probably won't like your choice either way, but here it is: get out. This is a bruiser, you don't wanna be caught up in it. Rich boy's not fighting back now, but when he does, it'll be nasty. They get fixers for a reason."

Laurel scowled at her desk.

"…You're gonna stick with it?"

" _Yes,_ " she ground out, more annoyed at herself than anything.

"You're a good girl," Quentin said, and he genuinely sounded proud. But also concerned. "Just be careful, promise me that."

"Okay, Daddy. I'll do what I can."

* * *

Starling was luminous against the black sky. Moira stared past her reflection in the window as Oliver glared at her back.

"What do you _mean_?" he asked, voice a low growl. She turned to look at him, gaze crisp and level.

This whole situation was something she could hardly wrap her head around. She had never thought her son would become interested in some random girl he met on the street. Much less spirit her away on his jet to Starling. Oliver had done a bit of spiriting in his time, but to the Bahamas, Ireland, Singapore. Not _home._ No one was ever shown the heart of his being, city blocks that stretched through his muscles and the sky scrapers that made up his bones.

This sunshine girl he had in the other room was different, whether she knew it or not.

"I mean you've got to rethink your choices," she said. Clinical, blunt, not a mother. A boss, a manager, someone that didn't want to put her head in her hands and ask Oliver _why?_ "Make her a fling, a passing fancy. Let them see only what you want them to see, and then get _rid_ of her."

Oliver clenched his teeth, and the fingers of one hand bounced against each other, as though he could subtly pound his frustration out.

"I already have her here," he finally said, resentment toward her in every word. "I can't let her go _now._ "

"Yes, Oliver, you can. You can and you should because now she knows nothing, and can slip away none the wiser. This is _better_ , for her especially."

His jaw ticked. He wasn't going to do it.

"How long did you intend to keep her here?" Moira asked, melting a little.

"I told her it was for the weekend."

"So let it _be_ for the weekend!"

"I can't!" he snapped, hands grabbing the desk, like holding onto it would keep him from breaking something. "Not now, not after—"

"I don't think you want to do this, Oliver. Not with these people," Moira told him. He shot her a tight, pained look that said he already had.

* * *

"Mrs. Queen," the pretty lawyer asked again. Her face held a gentleness that did not exist when she spoke to Oliver.

Felicity glanced up, swallowing.

"Did you leave with him willingly?"

"…Yes, I did," she whispered.

"And was this for a weekend trip, as he said?"

"Yes, it was. A couple of days in Starling, that's what he told me."

She didn't look at Oliver as she spoke. Felicity latched onto the lawyer like this was her only life line.

She reached up to take ahold of a necklace she had tucked under her shirt.

"So, Mrs. Queen, why did you stay? You were gone for six months, correct?"

"Yes, I was."

"So what kept you there?"

Oliver struggled to reel in a very slow breath.

* * *

"Felicity!" Oliver called, waving her over. He had a picnic basket in hand, and was waiting for her to come with the blanket.

It was not a story book kind of scene. The sky was largely overcast, the dull haze of the city hung on the skyline, the shape of the helicopter lingered a ways away, reminding her that they had not magicked up something wonderful. But it was still lovely. The sun, when it did break through, was warm. A flirtatious breeze toyed with her skirt and hair, and small white and pink flowers speckled the shockingly green grass. Oliver was wearing a light grey shirt instead of his usual dark colors, and he was grinning at her. She was outside, and Oliver had made sure there was no longer any need to worry.

She draped the blanket across the grass, and sat down. Oliver set out the food, a sweet sort of care on his face.

"You know," Felicity said through a mouthful of ham sandwich, "this was not the dining experience I expected as the wife of a billionaire. Definitely had less _dirt._ " The words were light, a joke for just his ears, but Felicity was keenly aware of how the word ' _marriage_ ' hung around her neck, and the way her wedding ring clung to her finger. She felt wrong, out of place, not belonging there with a rock worth several _million_ on her finger and a vision lounging at her side.

"I could take you back, if you want," he teased, flicking a grape at her nose. The words sounded natural on Oliver's tongue, like there were no strings attached. Little strings, dangerous strings. No longer existing strings. But still.

"All I'm saying, is that I expected a few more courses," she said, smile quirking her lips.

"Maybe later," he said, picking one of the tiny flowers and placing it behind her ear. Oliver ran his fingers through her hair, touch slow and careful and divine.

"Your hair looks wonderful in the sunlight," he murmured. Felicity flushed. It had been ages since she had had her hair lightened, and it probably was an ugly, dishwater brown. And yet, Oliver was still looking at her like she was a creature descended from the clouds.

"Yeah?"

"You should grow it out."

"What? No, I haven't had long hair in ages," she said, waving a hand as if she could shake off her embarrassment. His eyes were dark and all too focused as he brushed a finger along her jaw.

Oliver smiled and took a sharp breath, like he was literally casting himself from his train of thought. It was almost like he was falling into another persona, a different role, a different version of himself. She had seen a lot of that over the last few weeks, what with the dark suits and grim faces trudging through the apartment, siphoned into the lounge where Oliver took terrible, lethal command.

"Want some pomegranate?" he asked, pulling one from the basket. It seemed impossibly red against his hand.

"I love taking out the seeds, but I'm not sure about the taste."

"What? _No._ You just need to get the right one," he told her, pulling out a pocket knife.

"Here, let me. I've got purple on my dress, so if it gets on me, it won't show," she said, pulling the pomegranate from his hands as he began cutting it.

"I want to always remember things like this," he said quietly, watching her hands. Felicity paused, looking up at him. There was a sudden melancholy in his eyes, one that he had never let her see before.

"It's not _over_ , Oliver," she said carefully, because it…wasn't, right? After everything he had done, after everything she had done, he wasn't going to just… _end_ it?

"I know," he said, smiling through the dark edge in his eyes. "But this…is what I wanted us to be like. Not...the way it turned out."

"Yes, well, nothing can be perfect," Felicity said, injecting her voice with a lightness she truly did not feel.

Oliver smiled again, and Felicity forced her attention back to the pomegranate. She braced herself and tore along the cut he had already made. Juice slid down her arm, and a couple of seeds went skittering across the blanket, but on the whole, it was cleaner than if Oliver had simply cut the fruit open.

"There," Felicity said, looking for a napkin. Oliver took her hand, examining the dark juice on her skin.

He licked it off her arm and hand, then pressed his lips into her palm. Felicity stared at him, heart stuttering in her chest. She was married to him, and yet she still had _no idea_ what to do when he did… _this._

She pulled back her hand, taking in a shaky breath.

"Here, I'll—I'll eat these," she said, pulling her hand back from him. Oliver watched her gather the pomegranate seeds that had scattered across the blanket. Five little rubies, glistening on her palm.

"Here," Oliver said, a caress on her skin. He held up one last seed, dark and seductive in the daylight.

Felicity smiled in thanks as he dropped it into her hand.

They tasted dark and sweet and tangy on her tongue. As Felicity looked at Oliver, she thought he had a point. They really did taste good as sin.

* * *

Felicity stared at Laurel, the truth making it hard to breathe.

"Did you leave with him willingly?" Laurel asked. Her eyes said _'It's okay, Felicity._ ' It wouldn't be, though, not when she was finished.

"…Yes, I did."

"And was this for a weekend trip, as he said?"

"Yes, it was. A couple of days in Starling, that's what he told me." She couldn't look at anyone but Laurel, a beautiful, wise, outside force that had no judgments to make. The somber wedding ring hanging around her neck felt cold and solid against her chest. Even now, weeks after returning home, it held the burden and blessing of Oliver's protection.

"So, why did you stay? You were gone for six months, correct?"

"Yes, I was."

"So what kept you?"

A city that held no light, filled with people that were even darker. Oliver bracing himself against the counter, not looking at her. His silence making her uncomfortable, because it was the kind that was followed by heavy, heavy words.

Felicity sucked in a breath, wishing she could slide into confidence as easily as Oliver did.

"He…told me I could not leave."

"Oliver?"

"Yes."

"Did he give a reason?"

"Yes."

"What was it?"

Black smiles and heartless eyes, hands that only knew how to hurt. A dozen dangerous voices locked behind expensive doors that were just enough to make Oliver shout. That was what had kept her in Starling. It was not the perverse, terrible actions of a single person that had held Felicity captive, it was the threat of _maybe_ that had forced her to hide away, because the unknown was so, so much worse.

She looked away from Laurel. Felicity had craved for the truth, had begged for it on hands and knees because it was supposed to make things easier. But now, staring the consequences in the face… She couldn't do it, she couldn't say, she couldn't drench the bright, happy, _innocent_ world she had come from in the true horror of those six months. Felicity dragged in a breath, feeling slightly sick.

Laurel paused.

"Did you know he would keep you there for six months?"

"I didn't. We weren't certain of how long it would be."

Laurel shifted at the word 'we', but did not comment.

"Was there any time you were kept against your will?"

"No."

"Any moment you were unable to go home?"

Felicity closed her eyes, the small, serious room before her swaying and blurring with the night of Starling, the long nights and the solitary days. She could still see Oliver's tight expression when he came out and said ' _I'm sorry, but it's not safe.'_

She had seen the somber look in his eyes, the melancholic tinge to his smiles. But only in that moment had she seen death cast about his hands. And yet, it had made complete sense when Oliver finally looked her in the eye and said _'I am a part of the Russian mob, and you are in danger'_. Somehow, she had always known that he was the cruel and powerful god that ruled from below and in the shadows, had been able to tell the first time he sat down at her table and given her a glossy smile. Felicity just hadn't expected that she would the one he genuinely hoped to have at his side.

"No."

"Did he force you to marry him?" Laurel's voice wasn't professional and straight laced anymore, curiosity bleeding into her words. This was more than Felicity had ever said about her time in Starling.

"No."

"Did he ever force himself onto you? Make you have sex with him?"

" _No._ "

"Then why do it? Why stay away? Why vanish for six months, without a word to anyone? Why choose to isolate yourself from a _good life_?"

Because men had wanted to hurt Oliver through her. Because hurting her meant hurting anyone she loved. So she had to disappear, to hide, to wait and wonder as Oliver tore apart the threat with his own hands.

Felicity shrugged.

"…Why did you marry him?"

"Because…" Felicity licked her lips, feeling all the eyes, all of the suppositions, all of the opinions and accusations and decisions focusing on her words. She could hear the sighs of relief and the gasps of shock and the harsh, crystalline sound of her mother's heart breaking before she even finished. "Because he made me feel like a queen. Before there was a ring, before Starling, before he knew my name. He just listened to me and smiled, like I was a goddess. And I liked that. And I wanted it. And I wanted to make him happy."


End file.
